


Drowning Lessons

by LibertyValance



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Murder Mystery, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-09 01:31:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3231212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LibertyValance/pseuds/LibertyValance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What I am saying is that you didn't know Cordelia like I did!”</p>
<p>“I didn't know her, Stiles! I didn't know my. own. damn. twin. sister?” Derek paced back and forth pass the swing and window.</p>
<p>“Let me tell you something, Stiles. She is every second alive! She seeps into my coffee, bathes in my daydreams, and taunts me in my sleep! She surrounds me, she’s so tightly woven in between my seams that I don't know what's memory and what’s an illusion. I’m drowning in her."</p>
<p>Derek takes the final steps off the porch advancing onto Stiles, chest to chest.</p>
<p>"Don’t you ever say I didn’t know my Cora. You left Cora. You left me.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>__________________________________________________________<br/>So this story is 70% finish I just need to remember to post it</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drowning Lessons

Stiles contemplated turning around about 50 miles ago. Well actually, he considered doing it 257 miles before that.

_I can’t do this shit_ , he thinks.

He veers off to the right and he pulls onto wet gravel under a rustic blue interstate sign that reads ‘Tune into 107.3 BKLS’.

Rolling up the window to his white sedan, he rests his head on the black and chrome steering wheel.

_I’m not ready for this shit._

His right hand fumbles, searching for the sunglasses compart above the radio, he recovers a white and gold box of Morleys and huffs in relief. It’s strange, Stiles cracks one eye open and just stares at the “White Stick of DEATH” and chuckles. Climbing out the car, he jumps up on the trunk tucking himself into his jacket to avoid the post-rain chill.

_“Dad! What have I told you?” Stiles rages, as he moves through the back door into the living room where he find his father hastingly spraying the sofas down with Febreeze._

_“Son, you’re home earlier than usual. Everything ok with Scott?_

_“Don’t try to change the conversation we haven’t even started, yet. You told me you quit”_

_“I did, I have, I am. It’s...you know how stressful things been lately.”_

_Stiles slumps down on to the arm of the sofa. For the past month the sheriff has been working doubles trying to find the arsonist that's been wreaking havoc on the town. ._

_“What would Mom think, I mean if she saw how...you..we...I mean.”_

_“Oh, Son. I’m Sorry.”_

Stiles gets it, now. Spinning the cigarette between his middle and index finger, he reaches into his flannel pocket, removes a lighter and fires up. Stress is a mutherfucker thats why he made a vow to himself that he would never step foot in Beacon Hills again.

Stiles spent the last 5 years in Seattle building a successful private investigative career helping the city’s police department solve some rather perplexing cases. He let his work consume him, and he wasn’t going to apologize for that. Sure, it was his driving force to keep his mind off of her. He also spent another five dodging hospital visits and avoiding phone calls from his father.

Every minute he spent working a case meant that he didn’t have to feel what it was like to wake up alone. He kept his bed filled with case files and Morley's. So engrossed with the thought of another case, so eager to find the all the pieces, that he didn't notice when he cross the city limits back--home.

****  


Pulling into a dilapidated diner’s parking lot on the outskirts of town, he could tell that the building definitely had its golden years and then some. He remember many teenaged alcohol-infused nights shoveling Doug’s exceptionally seasoned curly fries into his mouth, after his so-called friends ditched him.

The eatery’s faux chrome 50s exterior was now lackluster and barrel-shaped roof looked caved-in. Shutting the car door, he strolled through the small parking lot of old Hondas and Toyotas scattered in between even older Cadillacs and Fords. A sea of sameness. complacency. Yet, there one car that caught his eye--a white BMW 7 series Alpina.

“Fuck me,” Stiles cursed inwardly.

There was only one or two families still living here that can afford a vehicle so elaborate and if God was his savior he was pretty sure it was the one he wasn’t prepared to confront. Not that he was scared of them or anything, towards the end of his life here they were the closest thing he’d ever had to a real family. Not some father and son struggling to make ends meet, while constantly arguing over who was going to make dinner that night.

Stiles moved to the back of the dinner taking an empty seclude booth.

“Well Look who Father-Time dragged in.”

Stiles was accosted with the loud voice of the waitress.

“I haven’t seen you since you were rail thin with sleep still in your eyes,” she says holding a dinged white mug in one hand and a fresh pot of coffee in the other.

“Last time heard, your Daddy said you were some fancy cop in the city,” The waitress bolstered.

“Umm, more like a private investigator,” swallowing the lumps that sat in his throat, as he sat down, spinning the aluminum napkin box in his hand.

“Local police departments call me in to ask me for my expertise.”

“Oh, don’t tell me now, you’re here about that Heather girl aren’t you?”

“Not officially. Just came to check-in and gives some notes on the case.”

“It’s sad what happen to her, really. They say they found her just like that Cora girl, what? 10-11 years ago?” The waitress all but whispered, trying desperately to recount her memory.

“Hale,” He cut in. “Cora Hale.” The waitress gave him a sad apologetic smile and pours a fresh cup.

Returning to his original position with his eyes fixed to the trash being tossed around the parking lot; hoping that he did not hear the exchange with the prying waitress. The diner wasn’t filled yet, but soon it would begin to haul in it normal breakfast crowd where he could blend in with the ambient sound of forks and knives chiming against plates.

Pulling him from his thoughts was the smell of sandalwood and another extravagant spice Stiles couldn’t place invades his nose way before his actual presence did, and Stiles had this ungodly assurance that he was utterly fucked. Within seconds, Stiles was reminded why he hated this town, its people.  

The audacity of him to just take a seat, without asking.

“Hale,” Stiles stated emotionless, turning my head to finally get a better look at Peter.

Nothing changed. He was still tall, shoulders more broad with age. His hair was shorter, sweeping just above his ears.

“Stanislaw,” He sings ending with a toothy grin. There was an unexpectant pause.

“You know better than to call me that, but congrats on the pronunciation, better than the last time.” He replied stubbornly.

“Oh, Stiles. Last time I was in the heat of the moment, if I can recall right. Do you even remember the last time we saw each other?”

Stiles sat up, squaring his shoulders and took and sip from the mug.

“ Ah, I see that they seem to have stolen your humor in that big rainy city, huh?”

“ I guess so.” He glared into the mug at his own reflection.

“What do you need, Peter?” Stiles said after a beat.

**  
“** Oh, me?  Nothing. Nothing at all,” Peter glances out the window.

 

It's been a long time coming and for Stiles it's just too early. He knew he would bump into one of the remaining Hale kids but not this fast and definitely not him. He was actually hoping that it would have been Talia’s or Laura’s car parked outside. Stiles remembered the first time he met the Hale family. It was right after their mother, Talia, won the Democratic nomination for the State Senate.

_Stiles was accompanying his father on a ride along. At 11, he was too old for a babysitter, but too young to be home alone. And since it was a quiet Tuesday night, the freshly appointed Sheriff didn’t see the trouble with letting his only child join him at work. That same night, someone set a fire in the Hale’s seven car garage; filling the whole manor with heavy black smoke. At the scene, firefighters struggle to quell the ferocious flames as they licked the side of the home. Being the ever curious Stiles, it took him no time getting out of the back seat of the squad car. Scott was going to flipped when he told him about the night he was having._

_Lined up at the end of the driveway was the younger Hales. Laura and her older brother, Peter were wrapped around eachother in a blue blanket, while the twins, Derek and Cora looked on in tears._

_“Sorry about your house.”_

_Spooked, Cora quickly wiped her tears away. Derek nudge Cora behind him giving the stranger a death glare._

_“Who are you?”_

_“Oh, I’m Stiles. Well, my real name is totally something else but you call me Stiles, My dad’s the new Sheriff. I’m told you guys go to my school but you’re two grades ahead of-”_

_“Where did you come from?” Derek cuts him off._

_It was that bold decree that left Stiles silent and Derek even more intrusive, “Why haven’t I’ve seen you around? Are you new?”_

_Derek Hale just spoke to him. and really, Stiles didn’t expect him to say much of anything, he never did. Not in interviews he sat in with his mom or at school. Al least that what everybody said. He would always strug, glare, or cross his arms-- the extent of his communication skills. “ Oh, he’s every bit Hale, Strong and Stoic, just like his father,” some supporters would say. “ He’s gonna make a damn good President one day,” other would crow. But a lot of the Beaconites just believed that Cora got all the social skills in the womb, while Derek stole the smarts. No, this is not the Derek he’s been told about. But to Stiles, he just came off so damn rude. spoiled, and just really plain ol’ asshole._

_“Ugh. Like I was trying to say earlier. I’m Stiles, I just moved here in the beginning of the summer. My dad is the new Sheriff-"_

_“Don’t worry about it” Cora rants, totally dismissing Stiles answer like she didn’t care._

_She must have notice her mistake. “The house that is. Its nothing my Mom can’t fix. When she becomes senator we’ll be moving, anyway.”_

_Hearing the conversation, Peter walked up with two pint-size bottles of water handing them off to his younger siblings._

_“What these two wretched yet distraught children meant to say was ‘thank you for your concern.’”_

 

The silence was beginning to be too much for both of them. Looking back at Stiles, Peter fixes his tie and leans in.

“Can’t two old friends just catch up over some brew and greasy eggs?”

“But wouldn’t that imply we were actually ever friends?”

"Should I tell my lovely baby brother about this...meeting?"

"No, He'll sniff me out soon enough"

“Now, that’s the Stiles I know.  Don't go changing, kid.”

“You too, Petey. You too.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing for any fandom. I roughly work 50-70 hours a week, so I'll try to update as much as possible. But if enough people comment, I'll work even harder to post every week or so. 
> 
> I'm a very poor writer so all mistakes will solely be my own. If anyone wants to edit my story that would be great.  
> Thanks for reading. 
> 
>  


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